


But Did You Die?

by cherrycola94



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Gen, crackish, i wrote this a while back and i'm deciding to finally put it here so yeah, kinda crack tbh but not really?, no editing we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrycola94/pseuds/cherrycola94
Summary: Nightwing's been stabbed during patrol, but in Jason's personal opinion it could have gone a lot worse.
Relationships: Batfamily Members & Alfred Pennyworth, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd
Comments: 3
Kudos: 57





	But Did You Die?

**Author's Note:**

> just bros being bros

Dick leaned against the medbay wall in the Batcave. Black spots danced around his vision. He became concerned with the amount of red in his vision, and then realized that all the red he’s been seeing wasn’t just his eyes playing post-injury tricks on him.

It was _all_ his blood.

He was half-bent over with one cold, clammy hand pressed against his stomach wound. The other gripped the medbay sink like a lifeline, because he knew if he fell over now he wouldn’t get back up. Dick squinted furiously at the floor. His mind was wandering around (annoyingly) and he couldn’t exactly remember why he’d come here.

 _Oh yeah..._ Two dots suddenly connected in his foggy mind. _Medbay. Tape bandages._

But where were said bandages?

“Alfred?” He yelled as loudly as he could (which was not very loud) and tried his best (which wasn’t too great) to listen for any reply. “Bruce?”

Dick counted to ten for a reply, but he didn’t hear anything.

Dick shuffled lazily through the various drawers around him. Cotton balls, Q-Tips, rubbing alcohol— that’ll be useful. He placed it on the counter. Tounge depressors, hypodermic needles, Scarecrow Toxin Antidote... where were the goddamn bandages? Dick closed the last drawer with frustration.

“Bruce? Where are you?” He wiped a sweaty hand against his leg, but it didn’t really make a difference. Somewhere in his mind, logic pointed out how fast his breathing had become.

Dick slowly sucked in a painful breath. Surely if he... he sat down somewhere, someone would find him? Yeah... that sounded right. He tried to take a step forward towards the gurney pushed against the back wall, but as soon as he lifted his right foot up his left knee gave out on him.

“Master Dick!” Alfred had magically materialized behind him ( _maybe with his super butler powers_ , Dick thought) looping strong arms under Dick’s armpits and yanking him upward before he hit the ground. “What on Earth happened?”

“Baseball bat. Head. Kniiiiiiiife,” Dick mumbled softly. “S’okay.” The last part was meant to calm Alfred down, but it sounded more like a question out loud.

“To the gurney,” Alfred commanded, shifting Dick around until his arm was around Alfred’s shoulders.

Dick tried to carry some of his own weight to help Alfred out a little but his legs refused to cooperate. The constant throbbing in his head and stomach made him feel sick. He was 97.86% sure that if he already hadn’t thrown up in an alleyway before arriving here, he would have probably thrown up again.

“It’s alright,” Alfred had magically (butler powers) managed to have Dick lie down on the gurney. Dick didn’t even notice that he was lying down. Alfred placed a reassuring hand on his forehead, his brows knit together with concern. “Rest, my boy.”

Dick didn’t need to be told twice. He closed his eyes, sinking into welcoming darkness as he let Alfred patch him up.

***

Dick didn’t remember waking up. He did remember Jason sitting in a chair beside him.

“What did you do?” Jason asked, placing a book in his lap.

Dick’s heart warmed at the sight of Jason sitting there. He was glad his younger brother had gotten stuck here during the pandemic, even if all the nineteen-year-old would do was read classic books, bake confections for only himself (sometimes Alfred would get a taste) and brood in dark rooms at around five o’clock in the evening.

“Some stupid thug attacked me with a baseball bat from behind when I wasn’t looking,” Dick sat up slowly, wincing at the throbbing in his stomach. “And then some other guy stabbed me in the stomach. I took ‘em out, but I lost a lot of blood.”

“How do you feel?” Jason asked while brushing a few strands of white hair out of his eyes. While being stuck at the manor, his hair had grown out and gotten a lot shaggier. Damian passive-aggressively offered to cut his hair (the kid may have been a little intense about it, but he was good). Jason declined every time.

“I feel okay,” Dick said. And it was true. He didn’t feel as dizzy, though his head still throbbed like a heartbeat. His stomach felt pretty bad, but compared to getting shot it was nothing.

“You look healthy enough after four hours,” Jason tilted his head a little, as if trying to find physical deformities.

“Four hours?” Dick asked.

Jason hummed in confirmation, turning his attention back to the thick book he was reading.

“That’s good,” A voice coming from the shadows behind Jason said, making Dick almost jump off the gurney. A figure stepped into the light, and Dick was met with Tim fully dressed in his Red Robin gear.

“Nice entrance,” Dick teased.

“I was gonna just grab some ice.” Tim pulled off his cowl and the black medical mask covering the bottom half of his face, revealing a bright purple bruise on his left cheekbone and a shallow cut on his chin. Dick winced in sympathy.

“Rough night?” He asked as Tim opened the minifridge stocked with ice.

Tim sighed. “Kinda? Rapists and a big drug bust.” He grabbed a plastic bag full of ice and plopped down on the bed next to Dick.

“How many?” Dick studied the bruise on Tim’s face. He guessed it would heal in around three days.

“‘Bout seventeen,” Tim said absentmindedly as he raised the bag to his cheek.

Jason snorted. “Only seventeen,”

“Shut up, hoodlum,” Tim picked a piece of ice out of his bag and threw it at Jason, missing him. Jason glared murderously at Tim, and for a second Dick was afraid he’d have to get up and in between them before they started fighting. Thankfully, Jason just grunted in annoyance and continued reading.

Tim sighed, also sounding annoyed. Dick sighed too.

“Today kinda sucks,” Dick said to nobody in particular.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “Even the weather was crappy. It started hailing after I got here.”

“You guys think your day sucked?” Jason said, giving them his famous ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ look.

“I kinda got stabbed in the gut, Jay,” Dick said.

“But did you die?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

“Well, no,” Dick admitted. “But—”

“But did you die?” Jason repeated, holding his book in his hand as if he’d throw it in any second.

“No.” Dick said.

“Exactly.” Jason stood up and walked away.

Tim snorted as soon as Jason was out of earshot. “If I was dirt-poor and got a cent for every time Jay pulled the ‘but did you die’ card on me _alone_ ,” He ruffled his hair, making it stick up. “I’d be richer than Jeff Bezos.”

**Author's Note:**

> annnd yeah that's basically it! it was originally going to be a shitpost on my tumblr (@/bikoncon) but it was too long so i turned it into a short gen fic


End file.
